Post by DAHLIA SABINA CAMPBELL on Mar 1, 2010 16:40:03 GMT -5
TAKE A BREATH TAKE IT DEEP CALM YOURSELF HE SAYS TO ME IF YOU
PLAY YOU PLAY FOR KEEPS TAKE THE GUN AND COUNT TO THREE • • •
& i'm sweating now moving slow no time to think my turn to go
AND YOU CAN SEE MY HEART BEATING
YOU CAN SEE IT THROUGH MY CHEST
Pacing. Pacing. Pacing. Was this what all people did when they were stressed? Not knowing, Dahlia bit her bottom lip, a coursing pain telling her that her teeth were too sharp, but she ignored it. Pain was just another sign that you are alive. Steps precise and face stone cold, the girl kept walking back and forth, her arms doing all the work. They were down at her side, then playing with her hair, then folded in a cross manner. The bay window she looked out of held not so hot views, but it was as close as she would ever get to the outdoors for a while. It’s not like she cared about the wilderness; actually, it was quite the opposite. She hated nature. It is just the itching thought that her freedom is limited. This restriction makes her want to misbehave just because it would tickle her fancy, not because she actually cared about it. Her arms were now folded, and she thought about what it would be like to get out of here. First; she would get a froyo. She missed her ice cream. Ice cream (before all of the medicines) was her drug. But the people at Alkaline Asylum were assholes and would not give her ice cream. This pissed her off so very much. Getting this urgent craving for cranberry juice, she stopped dead in her tracks, the guards looking up; worried. Would the girl flip out on them? Would she kill them? No, you morons. I just want some fucking juice. Sighing in detestation of this wretched place, she rolled her eyes and walked to the couch. Leaning her head back on the furniture, she examined the ceiling, wondering how much more bored she could get.
She wanted to pace again, but she had just sat down and wanted juice, but dared not to ask. The guards were all pissy about getting her something to drink at times. Glancing to one of them, she now examined him. He was tall, not that good looking, and somber. His eyes fluttered across the yard of the asylum, his mind longing to be elsewhere. You are not the only one, fellow. I want to get out of here worse than you do. Grimacing, she wondered what this man would look like dead. Oh, here come those nasty habits again, she thought sarcastically as she envisioned the man dead, lying on the floor with a single bullet hole lodged in his head, blood trickling out of his mouth in that very cliche manner. A small, wry smile creeping across her face, the demon in her was awakening. The guard was totally oblivious to the fact that this girl was fantasizing about his death, but that was the beauty about it. No one knew what went on in her head. Dahlia had to admit, she had an avid imagination and did not hesitate to use it. Looking away before she caught his eye, she coughed a bit, the musty air of the common room filtering through her lungs. The room smelled like old, dead people and looked like those aforementioned old dead people decorated it. The furniture did not match, the flowers were fake, the carpets were not truly authentic, and the tables’ legs wobbled whenever one touched them. It was an OCD patient’s worst nightmare, and Dahlia was starting to feel the affects of her own personal Hell set in. She wanted to kill the decorator of this room. She really did. Taking a long, deep breath of musty air, she closed her eyes for a moment. This morning was rather boring, and the fog was taking quite a while to dissipate from the asylum’s grounds. Dahlia was most definitely a morning person, though she could go all through the night, as well. She did not really sleep, for she did not feel safe in her lonely room. It, truthfully, gave her the creeps a bit. Could they not be a tad more hospitable? This is an asylum, for God’s sake. You deal with people. At least try to make them happy.
That being said, Dahlia murmured indignantly to herself about how much she truly wished to get out of here. She knew, though. She knew that she would never get out of here without some consequence. Her parents would not want her back, she would have no place to live, she had no job; many other things ran through her mind as her eyes danced around the room, closely inspecting it’s damn awful interior decorating. When were people going to filter into the room? It was nearly seven, and a lot of them were wide awake by now. Exhaling a large draw of air she took, Dahlia wondered who would be first to file into the room, a guard at their unwilling side.
words 806 *scowls* tagged Whoever wants to RP :D notes I could have done far better. ):
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